


On a Bench in Tadfield After Armageddon

by elusive_ellipsis



Series: Half-Decent Omens [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Lower Tadfield (Good Omens), Scene: The Bench After Armageddon (Good Omens), Scene: The Bus Ride (Good Omens), Scene: The Bus Stop (Good Omens), The Great Plan (Good Omens), The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens), The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:00:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28093557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elusive_ellipsis/pseuds/elusive_ellipsis
Summary: An alternative version of the Good Omens scene involving Crowley and Aziraphale waiting for a bus. Now includes a fist bump, one of those little top hats you get in Monopoly and a brief discussion about exorcisms.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Half-Decent Omens [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1757263
Kudos: 1





	On a Bench in Tadfield After Armageddon

Night had fallen on the Day That Would Have Been the Apocalypse, and the village of Tadfield was still at last. By a quiet road, in the warm orange glow of a streetlamp, Aziraphale and Crowley sat waiting for the bus with a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape between them. Aziraphale's right hand rested on a cardboard box as he took a swig of the wine with his left.

The angel wiped the bottle top and handed the alcohol over to Crowley, who took it and raised it to his mouth. Then he paused.

"Where did we get this?" The demon stared suspiciously at the bottle in his hand.

Aziraphale looked at it too, and his brow furrowed. His memory was starting to cloud, like waking up from a dream. He thought for a moment. "I think we just sort of... found it."

"Then why the Heaven are we  _ drinking _ from it?" Crowley's head was sieving out small snatches of information too. He held the bottle at arm's length.

"Well, it's rather nice," said Aziraphale. "Perhaps it's a gift from God."

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Really? The God who couldn't even be bothered to come down to try and orchestrate the end of the world They'd been planning for so long?"

"I thought we'd established that this was the Great Plan, and the Ineffable Plan, God's... longer-term plan, is still unknown," said Aziraphale. "So this was what They were planning all along, probably."

"What, all this chaos?" Crowley made a face. "Well, I wouldn't put it past Them. Bet it was a great show." He turned to the sky. "Did you have fun? Are we good entertainment?"

Aziraphale gave him a disapproving look, and took the bottle back off him. "Well at least it's over now."

Crowley shrugged. "I wouldn't be so sure."

"Whatever's next," said Aziraphale, "we can face it together. And I think it'll be a while, anyway. You've got to have at least as long a build-up for the culmination of the Ineffable Plan. So, to another six thousand years?"

Aziraphale raised the bottle in an invitation of cheers, but given that Crowley didn't have a bottle or a glass, he waved his hand awkwardly next to the wine for a moment before settling on giving it a fist bump.

"To another six thousand years, angel."

They each had another sip, and Crowley took the bottle again. As the demon stared at it some more, Aziraphale looked down at the scrap of paper in his hand.

"Perhaps this isn't quite over yet."

"How d'you mean?" Crowley leaned over to see what Aziraphale was holding. The angel handed it to him. The demon read. He passed it back and raised his eyebrows. 

"Well," he said, and left it at that.

Aziraphale put the paper in a pocket. Thinking about all this was giving him a headache. "I'm sorry about your car," he said quietly. "I know it meant a lot to you."

"It was a good car," Crowley conceded. "I had it from new, you know. Not even a scratch on it, and then it collapsed in a burning pile of metal. It's my own fault, really. Nothing good was ever going to come of reconfiguring the M25 into the shape of the dread sigil Odegra. But then again, nothing was supposed to. Good isn't exactly my forte."

"You did help save the world, though," Aziraphale pointed out. 

"True," said Crowley. "Although I'd say that's probably better described as fortuitous incompetence than actions taken for the greater good."

"Perhaps so," agreed Aziraphale. "Just imagine how awfully this would have gone if we'd been at all good at our jobs."

The demon shuddered. "There's power in ineptitude, I suppose."

"Not something one should rely on, I don't think."

Aziraphale leaned back and looked up - pensively, instead of apprehensively for once. He was seeing the stars in the sky instead of what lay beyond them for the first time in almost forever.

Crowley tipped his head to the side and watched the angel. A smile formed on his face.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" whispered Aziraphale.

The demon opened his mouth to respond, but just then there was the sound of a vehicle and a van intruded.

The engine cut off and out of the cab came a man dressed in International Express livery, with a look in his eyes that suggested he was rather surprised to be alive. He carried a clipboard and approached Aziraphale with a smile.

"You alright there, sir?" he said. "I'm here to pick up a parcel."

"Oh, yes," said Aziraphale, who moved to hold out the box he had been resting his arm on.

"Very good, sir." The delivery man checked inside it. "There's something missing here, sir," he said. "A sword?"

Aziraphale looked around him. He patted the bench either side of him, and then his coat, as if he could have hidden a celestial sabre in it. Eventually he stood up and looked at the bench. "Ah! Sitting on it the whole time." And he placed it in the cardboard box. He saw Crowley grinning at him and looked away.

The delivery man was staring into the box with an odd expression. "Funny thing," he was saying, "what happened today. If I told my wife what happened to me, sir, I don't think she'd believe me." He paused. "I don't think  _ I _ do."

Then he looked up and handed Aziraphale the clipboard. "Someone needs to sign for it, sir."

Aziraphale scribbled something on the paper that could feasibly pass as a signature and handed it back to the delivery man.

"Good thing you were here, really," said the driver. 

"I'd like to think so," said Aziraphale. "I really feel that we were undervalued -"

"Last time I brought a parcel back to head office without a signature, there was an inquest and everything. So much paperwork, sir, you wouldn't believe it." The delivery man patted the angel on the shoulder. Aziraphale stared at his shoulder, then the hand, startled. " 'Preciate you hanging around for me."

"You're very welcome," said Crowley. Aziraphale glanced at him; he was still grinning. The delivery man nodded at the pair and put the cardboard box and clipboard on the passenger seat of his van. For a moment the three looked at each other awkwardly; then the delivery man cleared his throat, got back in the van, and left. Aziraphale sat back down.

"Well," said the angel. "That was something."

"You really don't interact with humans very often, do you, angel?" said Crowley, returning the bottle to the bench. Aziraphale was about to protest, but Crowley added, "It's not a bad thing, per se. Some might call it endearing. That entire encounter was just... brilliant to watch. But has it ever occurred to you that maybe you should improve your social skills? Especially given that it doesn't seem like all of this lot will die off anytime soon. Maybe try to sell some of those books -"

Crowley stopped short.

Aziraphale looked away, face shifting. Crowley pulled himself up a little from his slouch. "Angel..." Aziraphale met his eyes. "I'm... sorry, about that. I wish I'd done something."

Aziraphale was a little surprised to hear how gently the demon spoke. He tried to smile. "You couldn't have done anything," he said. "I think one bookshop against the world is..." He hesitated. "An easy choice. Besides. You managed to save the single most important book you could have."

Crowley offered the angel a small solemn smile. "It did go out in a rather spectacular blaze of glory," he said. "The people of Soho will probably talk about it for years to come."

"As well they should," said Aziraphale, trying to come across as haughty and instead just about achieving indignant. "It served the people of London for a good two hundred years."

Crowley frowned. "If by served, you mean 'Was a perpetual source of irritation to anyone who wanted to buy anything there thanks to the most eccentric opening times the world has ever seen' and 'Rarely, if ever, sold books thanks to the most eccentric bookshop owner the world has ever seen', then yes, it served them rather marvellously."

Crowley delighted at Aziraphale's small chuckle, but it quickly faded. His yellow eyes flickered over the angel's down-turned face. Crowley took a breath. "You could always..." Aziraphale looked back at him. "Stay at my place, for a bit."

Aziraphale hesitated for a moment before saying, "Probably best not. I'll-I'll figure something out, I'm sure."

"You do realise we don't have to pretend that we don't know each other anymore, right?" said Crowley, elbowing Aziraphale teasingly. "I think Heaven and Hell have figured that one out by now."

Aziraphale’s smile was reflected on Crowley’s face.

"I - I suppose you're right," said Aziraphale uncertainly. 

"And I think they've got their hands tied up a bit at the moment. We'll be fine... for a night, at least." Aziraphale glanced back at him. "I don’t have a great many places to sleep, but I’ve got the odd book lying around."

This seemed to be sufficient temptation; this time he made no protest. Crowley took it as a yes.

"Have you seen my plants?" he said. He was grasping at straws, trying to distract Aziraphale. "I don't think you have. They're really rather lovely, if I do say so myself. Have you ever heard that talking to plants helps them grow? I don't think I've ever heard such good advice as that. I'll have to introduce you when you come to stay."

Aziraphale brightened. "I do believe I read that somewhere. I had always wondered if it worked."

Crowley pictured Aziraphale pampering the houseplants he'd spent decades carefully terrifying. "Good view too. Lots of London that isn't being destroyed by a cosmic war. Nice, really nice view."

Aziraphale nodded. "Yes. Funny how you appreciate things more when you almost lose them, isn't it?" He looked back at Crowley, whose eyes were wide and bright in the darkening night.

"Yes," said the demon, smiling at him. "I must agree with you on that."

The bottle of wine sat between them on the bench. Angel and demon reached for it at the same time, Crowley's hand wrapping around Aziraphale's. Crowley withdrew his hand quickly, as if shocked, while Aziraphale didn't move, debating whether he should still take the bottle or leave it where it was. He chose the former, and took one long swig before setting it down again. 

"So," said the angel. "All this time ahead of us and no head offices to obey. What are we to do with it?"

Crowley stared at the bottle and shrugged. "Feed ducks?" Suddenly the prospect of eternity seemed very different. It was one thing spending forever doing someone else's wishes, but as much as he had despised that at times, it was something else entirely to have forever at your disposal and nobody telling you what to do. He’d never been exceptionally demonic, but that didn’t make this sudden lack of purpose any less forbidding.

Aziraphale was staring across the road, into the darkness of the bushes on the other side. He appeared to be thinking something similar.

"Well, at least we can do it together," said the angel, although something in his voice expressed just how disconcerted he felt about spending another six thousand years without anything to guide him. "Perhaps I can take up a new career. I have been running a bookshop for an awfully long time, after all. Maybe I should take up magic again, full time."

"No.  _ No.  _ Absolutely not. Please. I will  _ pay _ you to not take up magic. I'll do anything. Please, take up horse riding or professional hula-hooping if you must; anything but magic." Crowley's voice came out scratchy; he had only realised now that his throat hurt. Preventing Armageddon must have required a lot of shouting. He shook his head to emphasise his point, and reached for the bottle.

Aziraphale turned back to him. "Anything?"

"...Within reason," said the demon, who, having known Aziraphale as long as he had was well aware that he would most likely be able to find a vocation even more appalling than magic, given the chance.

The angel's eyes lit up. "Fortune telling! That doesn't count as magic, does it? No, no - I could do exorcisms! Humans do love a good exorcism, don't they?"

"But the difference between you and them is you very well may end up exorcising somebody. Somebody who might not appreciate being exorcised," Crowley pointed out, but Aziraphale barely seemed to notice.

The angel gripped the demon's shoulders, his whole face alight with joy. "Tap dancing."

Despite himself, Crowley couldn't help but smile. "Angel, calm down," he said, trying half-heartedly to escape Aziraphale's grasp. "Honestly, if you learn a dance other than the gavotte, I would be mildly impressed. Look -" he gave up his attempts to slither free and held Aziraphale as the angel did him - "we've got all the time in the world - literally. If you want to learn the ocarina, we have time." He hesitated, wondering why he was encouraging Aziraphale. The angel was smiling at him, eyes alight in the glow from the streetlamp. All of a sudden eternity seemed less intimidating.

Aziraphale tipped his head to the side slightly. "You don't think I could learn tap dancing?"

"I have every faith that if that's what you set your mind to, one way or another you will find a way to do it," said Crowley. "However, for once in our immortal lives we don't have anything that we need to do or anywhere that we need to be. We could see the world. Consider it one long holiday - or at least, a near-infinite amount of time that we can treat as one."

Aziraphale let go of Crowley's shoulders, his initial excitement morphing into something more slow-burning. Crowley let go too, but much slower than his angelic counterpart.

"We could go and see the Great Wall of China," said Aziraphale. "I haven't seen it since it was still being built. And I have always wanted to see a penguin in its native habitat. Do they live in the Arctic or the Antarctic? I can never remember."

"Now you're getting it," said Crowley. "Let's have some fun with our future. I, for one, would like to see the Seven Wonders of the World. I'm not sure what they all are, but you can find out most things easily enough with an Internet connection these days. Not that I have one of those, but how hard can it be?"

The angel, still smiling like someone had approached him in the street just to give him a plate of free sushi and a bag of ancient first editions, glanced from Crowley to the stars. "I suppose we could do anything really, couldn't we?" he said, wiggling a little on the spot.

Crowley nodded, settling back against the bench and propping one elbow lazily over the back. "The world is our oyster."

Aziraphale peered at him. "What has an ocean mollusc got to do with the planet?"

To his increasing confusion, Crowley laughed.

"Oh, angel," he said. "Never change."

From around the corner of the street came a bus - single-decker, and virtually empty. In bright orange letters above the windscreen, it read  _ Oxford _ .

"Is that our bus?" said Aziraphale.

"Yep."

"But it says Oxford. Are we going to Oxford?"

"No, we're going to London. And it is too. It'll go to Oxford eventually though - the long way round."

As they stood up, Aziraphale felt obliged to object for the sake of Goodness, but realised he no longer represented it and simply wanted to go home. He watched as Crowley stuck out a hand and the bus slowed; the angel snapped his fingers, and a moment later the bottle of wine was waiting among a roomful of plants.

Crowley got on the bus first, without bothering to pay the driver or even acknowledge their existence. As Crowley picked a seat, Aziraphale glanced at the driver apologetically and dumped the contents of his pockets in front of them. In amongst a handful of loose change that couldn't have amounted to more than three pounds was a brooch that looked like a moth, the scrap of paper from Agnes Nutter's Nice and Accurate Prophecies, a small blue plastic whistle, the top hat from a Monopoly set and a monocle. Aziraphale took back the paper and left the rest, and the driver paid him no mind.

The angel sat down next to Crowley as the bus rumbled and set off, carrying them away from Armageddon's abandoned stage. When he looked at the demon, he was surprised to find that weariness had joined the mirth on his face.

"You all right, dear?" said the angel gently.

Crowley said nothing, but shifted over to rest his head on Aziraphale's shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you once again to Lobster, for everything they bring to these rather random writings.


End file.
